Things I’m Contemplating As I Enter This, My Superhero(ine) Phase
This post inspired by my friend and Patron Saint of Divorce Redemption.
We’ve all heard about the five (or seven) stages of grief, the designated personal places you must traipse within and for yourself to be able to stand tall on the other side of whatever loss you are suffering. Stages you need to fight your way through surviving, and really processing, to be able to find yourself again.
In my head I liken the five stages of divorce to a wily maze, thick with brambles of emotional underbrush you can attempt to evade, but ultimately, eventually, you are forced to cut straight through them to get to the heart of the matter, the heart of your own healing. The ultimate goal of course being to get yourself out of the ten-foot-tall winding hedge comprised of both fear and ambition, of self-doubt and progress, reeking of history, like a living tribute to the best and worst of yourself.
It’s been amazing to be able to identify most of these stages within myself, and even before Jen wrote the afore-linked post, to know I was wandering (sometimes aimlessly; sometimes deliberately) through personal stages of grief and healing before I could properly recognize and categorize them.
Most recently I was in Crazy Pendulum Stage, swinging so close to Healing I could smell it on a daily basis. (Healing smells like Neosporin® and hope mixed with chocolate chip cookies, if you were wondering.) On my best days, I could really feel it. Feel me, rising from the ashes somewhere deep below the flannel of hurt I had been wearing like second skin.
Like the day I wanted to tell all of you that I came home after a long and taxing day of work and pushed myself through a cardio workout, and then made unassisted salmon for the first time and it was sort of amazing. (I did call my mom to tell her, because moms are required to care about things as mundane as their daughters being able to properly cook a piece of fish. My mom being the fantastic cheerleader that she is “Ooohed” and “Aaahed” at all the right moments, and even asked me questions about my cooking procedures.) It was a milestone of sorts, and not just because Chris and I used to make salmon all the time and it was the first time I’d ever done it by myself, for myself.
Without even realizing the moment it happened, sometime within the last two months I stepped out of the bittersweet Healing Phase, grass and small burrs still lodged in my hair, and started striding confidently into my very own Superhero(ine) Phase.
And now I’m going to pause for a moment to say something I’ve wanted to say since the end of June. Preface: I don’t know if I’m about to sound like The Biggest Sap On The Planet (TBSOTP), but I have a feeling this sentiment will make a bit of sense to anyone who has lost someone (whether to death or to life).
I can feel your love. In a very tangible way I have from the beginning and still can feel your support, your prayers, your good thoughts being sent my way, and every time someone unexpectedly emails or texts or calls to tell me they’re thinking of me I want to say “I know. I can feel it; I can feel the love.”
(I don’t typically say that because I fear everyone will think I’ve turned into a full-blown hippie and am now frolicking on someone’s large front lawn with daisies and braids in my unwashed hair while I ponder creating a time machine so I can move to San Francisco circa 1965.)
What I typically do is cry (see again: sap), and attempt to explain how thankful I am. How ridiculously lucky I count myself to have each and every one of you. Your support has been amazing, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s literally been carrying me through the must tumultuous time in my life. I don’t believe I could have done this without you. And I have no intention of forgetting that, ever.
Now, without further sappy adieu, on to the list! (What list?) (This! list.)*
Things I Want To Try While Wearing My Superhero(ine) Pants**:
Bungee jumping — Technically I’ve already done something (a little) similar, at Six Flags outside of L.A. It was ridiculously terrifying. And awesome. And I’m pretty sure I drooled on myself while I was falling. It was one of those adrenaline-heavy, freestanding rides located inside the park. It was called The Superman, which loosely translated means, “Here, we’re going to hoist you up way too high over some gravel and then you are going to pull this lever to RELEASE YOURSELF (Theresa assigned me this task), at which time you will free fall for a few seconds that will feel like a lifetime and then you’ll start to pendulum swing, WEEE!”
This jump is going to be really symbolic for me. A letting go and embracing the fall into a new saga of my life sort of jump. I’m admittedly as excited about the symbolism as I am about how I’m no doubt going to to be pants-crappingly scared to throw myself off a bridge with a cable attached to my body, and how I’m going to do it anyway.
Unearthing Fit Kerri — I wasn’t happy for a long time, and while a lot of my unhappiness has come to light since the separation and everything that came after, the ultimate handicap for me is that during my time with Chris I let myself become someone I didn’t even recognize by the end. I think that’s the danger of relationships we aren’t supposed to be in: we don’t get better; we get worse. We become the worst versions of ourselves, and then to combat the feelings of being unhappy, we do things we would never do if we were happy. For me, I buried myself in food and inactivity and watched the weight on my shoulders grow heavier every week while the weight on my frame did, too.
I am an athlete. I have been since I was a kid. All of my life, until about three years ago, I have been healthy and fit, hopping from one sports season to the next, keeping myself active both outdoors and indoors, loving the way my body responded to rigorous doses of activity, loving my own physical strength and my ability to move freely. I want that Kerri back. And I intend to take her back, one step at at time. The first of many important steps I’m taking toward this goal were trekked in China and South Korea, and the thirteen! pounds I lost while I was there was just the motivation I needed to get my literal backside in gear when I got home. The next steps toward this goal are going to be trod this weekend during the Shamrock 5k I’m running/walking/probably dying while finishing with Rhi and Kali. Quitting just isn’t an option. And so I won’t.
Writing every day — Writing so closely mirrors putting on my Brave Pants because it’s what I know I should be doing (with my life, as an actual career) and yet too often I falter, over-think, tell myself I’ll have more time at some later date to transfer the stories dancing in my head onto the page, and you know what? That’s total b.s. All of it. I make too many excuses and I’m tired of them. There is no such thing as “more time later.” And even if there were, there’s no guarantee that time is going to be granted to you. Or to me, as it were.
For the past week I’ve written something (non-blog-related) every day, and the act of sitting down in front of a blank page (or screen) and filling it with my words has sprinkled hefty doses of joy into my life, just like it always has, ever since elementary school when I fell in love with reading and writing in Mrs. Vance’s second-grade classroom. Just like it does whenever I make writing a priority. The moral of this story: our passions and our gifts are faithful if we are willing to give them our time.
———
As difficult as moving on has been for me, and as hard as it will be for you if you ever find yourself facing a similar situation (or perhaps as you find yourself facing a similar situation right this moment), I can tell you with 100% confidence that the hope you will feel when faced with a fresh start and a blank slate, the inner strength you will realize you have been given, and the way your friends will come from everywhere and nowhere to support you? It will take your breath away. And you will be OK. And very soon after that you will be even better than OK, and you’ll start laughing, hearty laughs bellowing from so deep inside you won’t be able to stop once you start, and then maybe you’ll even spend two weeks in Asia having the time of your life, and you will be thankful for every single moment.
*This being a more specific extension of my 2010 list of goals a.k.a. A Year Complete. I’ve been recording my progress on that list as the weeks fly by, and it lives as its own page in the top nav. of my site. Or you can just click here.
**NO CAPES!
Do A Big Sister A Favor?
Today is babycarrot sister’s 26th! Day of Cake. Being that my sister happens to be (awesome, yes! and) one of my favorite people on the planet, I think instead of being here, you should go here, and read all about what made her day great. (Seeing as how we’re all very visual learners around these parts, I will tell you that there are most definitely pictures. Of cake, even!)
You could even wish her a happy! birthday. You know, if you → Read more...
My Heart Is A Nautical-Themed Pashmina Afghan
We interrupt copious amounts of Asia recapping this broadcast for a maritime digression of sorts.
You see, I’ve been a lover of the ocean, and of all things aquatic and nautical-inspired, ever since I can remember.
My love for sea-faring-everything might very well have been fostered during the myriad spring breaks spent exploring quaint coastal communities in and around Port Ludlow, Washington. Some of my fondest childhood memories spring forth from days spent poking my curious face into every trinket shop in → Read more...
Paint By Numbers
Or, My Asian Adventure, Numerically Speaking.
1: Raw Ginseng root eaten after being offered by a kindly man with wrinkles showcasing his eyes at the Yangyang market. Also the number of photos I was asked to be in with total strangers (at the Forbidden City in Beijing).
6: Times I was asked to take pictures for total strangers.
2: Cups of mineral water I drank directly from a spring in the ground (in Osaek).
3: Flights (out of 5) wherein I had two (or → Read more...
Noteworthy
I’m home safely and soundly and Portland has never looked greener. It was beautifully overcast today, warm enough for a light jacket and flip-flops and I walked to retrieve Iggy from puggy play-date bliss the boarders, and walked back grinning widely about being back in my favorite of all cities after a truly incredible trip.
Here are some of my notes I made about said incredible trip, scrawled messily during the eleven-hour flight home from Japan to PDX yesterday/today/I have no → Read more...